


Femslash February 2020

by DCBrierton



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV), Gilmore Girls, Grace and Frankie (TV), Jane the Virgin (TV), One Day at a Time (TV 2017), The Good Place (TV), Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Femslash February 2020, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCBrierton/pseuds/DCBrierton
Summary: Drabbles originally posted on Tumblr, using prompts from femslashfeb there.Chapters by pairing, prompt as the title for each story.
Relationships: Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan/Alys Vorpatril, Elena Alvarez/Syd, Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson, Janet (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop, Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore, Petra Solano/Jane Villanueva, Rebecca Bunch/Valencia Perez, Tahani Al-Jamil/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	1. Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson

**Denim**

Grace reached into the corner of the closet and pulled out a stack of the mystery Frankie items she’d shoved aside when she brought the first armload of clothes back from Nick’s. It looked smaller than she’d expected; the whole closet had felt full at the time, occupied. And it didn’t look like Frankie stuff—the folds of cloth weren’t voluminous enough. The tunic on top of the pile was more of a shirtdress really. And poking out from near the bottom, Grace recognized a pair of distressed jeans. _Say yes_ , she thought. Just trying one dress on wouldn’t hurt.

**Note**

Frankie finds the first note on the blender. It’s a yellow post-it whose boring business connotations have been overlaid with a drawing of five small ovals surrounded by a larger red circle with a slash. She looks sadly at the bag of Skittles she’d planned to include in her morning smoothie. “We must have gunked up the works pretty bad yesterday, friends.”

The next is on her computer, a simple phone and rosebud prompting her to call Bud. _So the student becomes the master_ , she texts Grace first, not adding even one emoji. _Two can play at this game._

**Makeup**

Grace’s makeup drawer is empty. There are only two people in the house who steal Grace’s stuff, and Carl can’t open drawers, so Grace starts the slow process of tracking Frankie down. Is she replacing it with homemade yam-based cosmetics? Is she making art with experimental materials? Is she holding a ritual to cleanse the household of compulsory heterosexuality? Is she giving papier-mâché Grace a makeover?

When she gets downstairs, though, Grace sees Frankie squinting at the labels through a pair of Grace’s reading glasses.

“Grace! Did you know makeup expires?”

Grace sighs. “Yes, Frankie. Remember _Say Grace_?”

**Ocean**

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. I have something to confess,” Frankie says.

Grace startles, bumping her head on a refrigerator shelf. “Let me guess, you aren’t a vegan and you finished the cottage cheese.”

“No!” Frankie’s tone is wounded. “The cottage cheese is in the vegetable drawer with its friend the lettuce. And it’s bigger than that.”

“Oh?” Grace turns around, spooning the cheese onto her salad. “What is it, then?”

“You blonde bloodhound,” Frankie says fondly, then drops her eyes to a very interesting patch of counter. “‘Chum the ocean’ was a ruse. The sea lions were invited guests.” 

**Another World**

Frankie pulls the blindfold from Grace’s face. She’s been smelling a riot of food smells, but this… is not a restaurant. They’re outside, surrounded by booths selling Mexican food and touristy junk. People are milling all over the sidewalk, trailing a surprising number of costumed dogs and a surprisingly small number of children. “What is this place?” Grace asks.

“Welcome to SoCal Taco Fest 2020,” Frankie beams. “I sweet talked the guards into letting me bring you in. Well, that nice Officer Torres recognized us, and he let us in. Now come on, the chihuahua races are starting any minute!”

**Perform**

“We’re not wearing the capes on Shark Tank,” Frankie says, closing her laptop.

“No,” Grace agrees, hoping this isn’t another conversation about Frankie dressing up as a toilet so Grace can pretend to get stuck on her.

“But the good news is, Allison finally responded to my facebook message.” Frankie grins. “She says we can wear them when we perform our magic act at Faith’s birthday party! I knew all my practice disappearing reading glasses was building to something great!”

“I don’t think that’s a magic act,” Grace mutters, googling _easy magic tricks_.

“Well, not with that attitude it isn’t!”

**Glass**

Grace drops a handful of sea glass in the bowl Frankie keeps on the porch for it. She’s been taking long walks alone these days trying to clear her thoughts, despite the complaints of her “good” knee. It’s hard to really focus in the house with Robert and Sol always in the next room.

And then there’s Frankie. Not that Grace minds her constant interjections into any silence. But she needs some time free of the distractions of Frankie, to think about, well, also Frankie. And Nick. And Grace, which Grace she wants to be. How to be that one.

**Candle**

Frankie surveys the dining table. She’s made a big salad and set the table carefully, with just the two tall candles Grace likes. But now she’s wondering if she should have ordered in Thai food to eat on the couch and told the boys to scram.

“What’s wrong?” Sol’s sudden appearance is jarring. She used to like how quietly he walked, but now she thinks maybe she should make him wear a bell. “You’re making Carl nervous.”

“I just want it to be perfect,” Frankie says. She doesn’t say anything more; she doesn’t know how. It’s not Sol’s business anyway. 

**Pillows**

“Do you like it? I got inspired by the ball pit at Faith’s daycare.” Frankie removes her hands from Grace’s eyes. Grace’s first impression is that someone has gone through the Macy’s home furnishings department and piled together all the couch cushions and bolsters any other fluffy decorative objects they could find. But the longer she looks, the more Grace notices. For example, there’s one pillow shaped suspiciously like the Menage A Moi.

“I didn’t realize anything could be _less_ hygienic than a ball pit,” Grace replies. Then she steps neatly to the side and pushes Frankie into the pile.


	2. Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore

**Bloom**

“What are you doing with those?” Rory doesn’t bother pointing at the huge flower arrangement Paris is holding. “I mean, I know your whole Martha Stewart thing is important for your mental health, but there’s no way that’s fitting on our table.” 

Paris sets the basket on the table. It technically does fit, although leaving very little room for food. Or laptops. “They’re not for us. I need to make a good impression tonight.” 

Rory notices Paris’s nervous fidgeting, her lucky green blouse. “But Grandma and Grandpa already know you?”

Paris rolls her eyes. “Not as your date. It’s different.”

**Upside Down**

“I told you we should have had Luke do it,” says Rory from the couch, where she’s been alternately browsing political gossip sites and offering advice. This is her way of helping with manual labor, as she made sure to point out when they walked into IKEA. 

“I don’t need a man!” Paris glares at the half-finished coffee table. “I just need these holes to line up!” She shoves it together again. Rory really looks at it for the first time in probably an hour.

“Paris?”

“What?”

“Do you think maybe that plywoody bit should be on the bottom?”

**Competition**

Paris drags her eyes off the giant banner. “You didn’t tell me they named part of this festival after your mom.”

Rory looks up from Kirk’s handmade rhubarb-themed dolls. “Oh, yeah, that’s new. Well, I mean, not the contest, they’ve always had the contest. The name is new. It’s both of us, really, but we thought ‘The Lorelei and Rory Gilmore Pie Eating Contest’ was a little much.”

“But, why?” 

Rory shrugs. “Well, you win twelve straight pie eating contests, Taylor asks you both not to take part and names the booth after you. That’s just how it is.”

**Love**

Paris never thought she’d have such a stupid problem. People do it all the time. So much so, it’s hard to get help. Madeline didn’t see what the issue was. The internet suggested ways to do it in 183 languages. Plus several lists of “creative” ways to do it, mostly either entirely unsuitable ideas or things Paris has already done. 

The only person who can really help when Paris gets stuck like this is Rory, but that’s just salt in her wounds this time. You can’t exactly ask your girlfriend how to tell her you love her.

Can you? 

Maybe.

**Shield**

“Paris! Shield me!” Rory cries, pulling them both into the bread-and-feminine-hygiene-products aisle. Paris knows the drill: she grabs a box of tampons from the shelf at random and pretends to read the packaging. Rory is huddled behind her, out of view of the section they just came from. Paris glances over; Lorelei is selecting a can of whipped cream.

“So, that’s your mom,” Paris says. She exchanges the tampons for another brand. “Right?”

“Uh-huh.” Rory shrinks down further but doesn’t elaborate. 

“Aren’t you going to have to talk to her eventually?”

“Well, yes, but. Later!”

**Lazy**

A ray of sunlight smacks Rory in the face. She groans, rolling to escape. She rolls into something warm and firm. Paris? How is Paris not up yet? What time is it? She sits up, checks her phone (7:12 on Saturday, she’s going back to sleep for so long), checks that Paris is breathing (she is, and also making cute noises when Rory moves), checks Paris’s phone (dead, which explains the sleeping Paris). Rory should wake her, probably, send her out for her morning run. But not waking her is so warm that she just snuggles back down instead.


	3. Rebecca Bunch/Valencia Perez

**Rainbow**

“But it’s priiiide!” Rebecca whines. “Everyone will be doing it. Plus we’d be matching!” She does a little shimmy as she dances the offending garment closer. “Come on, you know you want to!”

“Okay, I just said I _don’t_ want to.” Valencia closes her eyes and counts to ten. Yes, Rebecca is trying to get her to wear a half-flag, half-dress abomination exactly matching Rebecca’s own. But she means well. She always does. “I’m already dressed,” Valencia says, “but I _will_ do us matching rainbow eyeshadow like you have on your Pinterest.”

“Yes!” Rebecca drops the dress. “Awesome!”

**Secret** and **Dark**

“Don’t open that!” Rebecca squeals, planting herself protectively between Valencia and the linen closet. “What are you doing?”

“Changing the sheets?” Valencia uses her it’s-obvious, high-school-queen-bee tone. “I was doing a load of laundry anyway?” She lets herself get slightly predatory. “But now I’m wondering, what’s in _here_?”

Rebecca glues herself to the closet door. “It’s just—I don’t, um, fold my sheets, okay? I don’t want them all to fall on you. I’ll get out the new ones, you go, um, meditate?”

“Sure.” Valencia smiles breezily, making a mental note to check the closet later.

* * *

Valencia slips into the hall, closing the door silently behind her. She switches on her phone flashlight. Then she eases open the linen closet, slowly in case Rebecca’s big secret really is an untidy pile of sheets. 

At first, she doesn’t get it. There’s just sheets (folded, if imperfectly) and a row of binders that must be Rebecca’s filing solution. Then she notices the labels. “Valencia—friends,” “Valencia—work,” “V—associated places.” She shuts the door without bothering to read the rest. 

“Like I don’t know you’re a weirdo stalker,” she whispers as she heads back to bed. “As if.” 

**Blush**

Rebecca slams into her seat. It sucks that Darryl called this mandatory meeting on her birthday and made a point of reminding her about it yesterday so she couldn’t even “forget” it. 

Darryl stands up; apparently it’s a _dramatic_ meeting. Normally Rebecca would be into that, but not today. “Everybody, let’s welcome our special guest!” He gestures toward the door behind Rebecca’s seat. 

Rebecca turns grudgingly and feels her eyes widen in surprise. What’s Valencia doing here? What’s in that tiny box she’s holding? She feels her cheeks heat, a pleasurable flush spreading over her. Suddenly it’s her favorite birthday.

**At Work**

“Ooo, a dance floor!” chirps Rebecca. “I’ve got some sweet moves to bust out later.”

Valencia shakes her head. “Absolutely not. You’re here because the caterer’s assistant called in sick this morning. You aren’t responsible for getting this party started.” She wants to say _you’re forbidden to get this party started_ , but that would probably end in Rebecca getting drunk and dancing lewdly with the client’s great-uncle. And Valencia actually likes this quinceañera, would enjoy working with her again for her graduation party.

“But my moves,” Rebecca protests, drawing it out into a whine.

Valencia smiles. “Show me now.”

**Ice**

Rebecca takes Valencia’s hand and leads her onto the ice. “Come on, it’s fun, I promise. You’ll be so great at it.”

Valencia scowls adorably, scrunching her face down into the scarf she’s wrapped over her dramatically oversized sweater. “It’s cold. You know I don’t do cold.” 

“It’s Christmas!” Rebecca swings around to skate backwards in front of Valencia as they restart the argument they had (most recently) in the car coming here. For a moment she feels free, unselfconscious, thrilled to show off in front of her almost-too-hot girlfriend. Then she falls on her butt. Of course.


	4. Tahani Al-Jamil/Eleanor Shellstrop

**Fire**

Tahani expected the Bad Place to be warmer. There’s supposed to be a lot of fire, smoke, soot. Instead they’re trapped in basically a giant office building, and it’s that awful office-building temperature designed to work for a man in a suit, and to… well, here… with anyone else. Especially anyone wearing a charming, fashionable sundress.

She shivers, trying to make it unobtrusive. But Eleanor must see, because suddenly she’s slinging one arm around Tahani’s shoulders, her hand rubbing up and down Tahani’s arm. It feels good, better than the minimal warmth should. Tahani feels noticed, cared for. Important.

**Ribbon**

Eleanor collapses into the least uncomfortable chair in her horrible clown house. Soon Tahani will follow her home, wondering why Eleanor ditched her at another one of her beautiful parties. The giant sinkhole tonight is definitely, absolutely Eleanor’s fault, but Tahani doesn’t know that. Eleanor can’t let her know that.

The door opens, and Eleanor looks guiltily up at Tahani, standing at the door with a smile forced onto her face. She’s holding a box, beautifully wrapped and tied with an actual, silky-looking ribbon.

“Happy one month anniversary,” Tahani says in her fakest celebratory voice.

Eleanor bursts into tears.

**Dance**

“I thought you said that we were going out dancing.” Tahani blinks as her eyes adjust to the dimness inside Noah’s Arkade.

“We are,” Eleanor replies. “Ignore the animatronic monkeys and come here.” She takes Tahani’s hand, leading her to two identical machines. “It’s a revolution, baby!”

“I suppose I could give it a whirl.” Tahani steps gingerly up to a machine.

“That’s my girl! Winner gets the first turn tonight, if you know what I mean.” 

Tahani lets herself smile. She fondly remembers beating her friend Shakira at DDR the night they met. She’s going to kick Eleanor’s ash.


	5. Janet/Eleanor Shellstrop

**Sword**

“You have got to be kidding me,” Eleanor says. “A flaming sword?”

“A flaming sword,” Janet confirms. “Also, fun fact: the angel guarding the gate is composed primarily of eyes and wings. He was produced during the universe’s cubist phase.”

“So what you’re saying is, we definitely can’t sneak into the real Good Place.” Eleanor sucks in her lower lip as she weighs her options. “I guess it’s just you and me, two hotties in an endless desert. I can think of some ways to pass the time.” She gives Janet a flirty smile. “If you know what I mean.”


	6. Elena Alvarez/Syd

**Dress Up**

Elena stares at herself in the mirror. She feels great in her quinceañera suit, but it never seems like the right time to wear it. “Are you sure this looks okay for a protest?” she asks. “I mean, I like it, but it _is_ kind of formal…”

“It’s not just any protest,” Syd says. “Jane Fonda’s going to be there today. If you can’t wear it to a protest with Jane Fonda, where can you wear it? And you look totally hot in it.”

“I do, right?” Elena smooths her palms over her hips. “Fire Drill Friday, here we come!”


	7. Petra Solano/Jane Villanueva

**Combat**

Jane can barely watch Mateo as he steps up for his belt test. She’s too nervous for him—it’s his first time. His first test ever.

Instead, Jane’s eyes lock on Petra, seated complacently on the other side of the gym with the girls. Her shiny hair, her perfectly folded hands. For just a moment their eyes meet, before Petra returns her gaze to where Mateo is answering the head teacher’s questions. Jane wants to look away too, to watch Mateo demonstrate the movements he’s worked so hard on. She can’t. She’s too nervous, she thinks. That must be why.


	8. Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan/Alys Vorpatril

**Lace**

Cordelia hears a tearing sound as she leaves the supper table. She’s trod on her own hem—again. She never should have ordered this dress. The style is lovely, but her long strides threaten to rip the delicate skirt to tatters. As she steps back into the ballroom Alys appears at her elbow, pulling her into a side chamber. 

“Is the hole that visible?” Cordelia moans, bending to see the tear. 

Alys shakes her head, laughing. “I had—other plans.” She reaches for Cordelia’s cheek, gently guiding her face nearer Alys’s own. “But we can take care of that too.”


End file.
